It
was bound to happen. A woman like me can only hold her tongue for
so long before her bile becomes indigestible, and I have to spit
words. Besides to be frank, this one has been brewing for
months.

Bicycles, bicycles, bicycles–They are everywhere,
apparently one in 10 of us now cycles at least once a
week.

Really!

Well,
I know at least 10 people that don’t, and I’m certain no one has
ever asked me!

Furthermore, I am pretty sure the sight of me in Lycra shorts would
cause more accidents than my clumsy attempt to ride something that,
unfortunately, has rather painful memories for me from childhood. I
broke my arm falling off one when I was
5.

I
will, however, confess to owning one. Well, I say own; I didn’t
actually part with the £700 or so pounds I was advised to spend on
a “decent” bike – no, I have one that a neighbour very kindly
gave to me when I expressed an interest in trying it. I have
serious suspicions that I was drunk at that time, and that said
neighbour merely saw a crafty way of clearing out his shed.
Needless to say, it has now taken up residency in my shed, and he
now has an apple press in his.

I did
start out with high hopes of using it to get fit. I pictured myself
pedalling down to the village shop every day to get the milk,
cycling to pick my daughter up from school and us strolling back
along the river, lovely idyllic scenarios of how I should be. Then
someone pointed out that there are two very steep hills between me
the shop and the school and although I am pretty confident of
getting down them, I am absolutely certain I will never get up them
again.

Then
there’s the gears; I never could get my head round how that all
works! So my super-duper second hand bike is sitting in my garage
waiting for the time I feel brave enough to have a go.

So
why then, when I confess to owning one and indeed hold a
secret desire to venture forth on one, do I have such
venomous distaste of them? Simple – I live in an area that
will be part of the “Grande Depart” route.

I
should explain further.

Firstly
I will state that if this were a singular one off event I would not
be quite so agitated by it. I would embrace it as a boost to trade
and tourism that it undoubtedly will be and yes perhaps even stick
a yellow banner in my garden offering overnight camping facilities
to those who are coming to stand by the roadside and cheer these
buff men on their way.

But
the simple fact of the matter is this is not a one off for us.
Admittedly we don’t always have the road closures, or the enforced
grounding that will happen on the weekend in question but we are
plagued by cyclists on a daily basis. There is barely days go by
when we are not inundated with packs of them.

Now
don’t get me wrong – the sight of a pert little bottom wiggling up
and down on a bike can keep me amused for oh… all of about 30
seconds but I’m afraid after that the admiration wears off and I
remember that I do have to be somewhere by a set time and now this
pack of tight little bottoms is making me late!

Singularly
I can cope. I am quite happy to bide my time until I can carefully
and courteously overtake my Lycra clad friend. But ask yourself –
how long you would be prepared to wait behind a pack of 10 to 20
cyclists some riding three abreast before your patience and
expletives would run out?

Again
as a one off mildly frustrating, but all the time? You can pretty
much guarantee that, on any journey, you take of any distance in
this area at any time of day you will encounter this problem at
least twice.

Once
upon a time it was just a weekend occurrence. You could psyche
yourself up to going out and know to add an extra 20 minutes to
your journey but not now. Now it’s more or less daily, there is no
predictability to it, no way of hedging your bets, no way you can
know what to expect. So my only recourse is mumbling to myself as I
pass them “Why aren’t you at bloody work!”

How
do all these people manage to get the time off to go careering
round the countryside? The fact that once in a pack they actually
seem to adopt a pack mentality and completely ignore other road
users just further fuels the frustration. It’s as though once
together they adopt a collective moral high
ground.

Yes,
you’re on a bike. Yes your bike probably cost more than my car. Yes
you are a superior being because you can balance and pedal at the
same time, but does that really entitle you to completely forget
that you can be courteous and considerate to other people?
Apparently so.

I
know cyclists in towns and cities get a raw deal and I am
completely on the side of anyone that cycles to work or for that
matter has any purpose to their journey on a bike, but recreational
cyclists – no.

The
insane competitiveness that overtakes them when they are out can
only be described as suicidal. These men clearly become so focused
on overtaking the man in front that any sense of rational behavior
goes out the window.

I say men because it is predominantly men and any glance at the
statistics readily available on the subject will bear me
out.

I appreciate that I live in an area of stunning natural beauty and
that others should be free to come and enjoy it and I absolutely
agree with that. But as much as I am expected to be accepting and
respectful of other people’s rights to come to the place I live, am
I also not entitled to some respect as a person who lives and works
here! That is all I ask, some good old fashioned
manners.

Any attempt to accommodate would be appreciated; even tractors and
caravans have a modicum of road courtesy and will on occasion pull
over to let people go by, but a pack of cyclists go in single file
to let you pass? Not a hope in hell.